Wounded
by Bishie Huntress
Summary: Roy is injured, and Ed tries to keep him alive.


"I won't let you die! I won't!" Ed shouted desperately, pressing the cloth of his red coat hard against Roy's chest.

"Ed…" Roy trailed off, unsure of what to say. Lightning lit the sky, and thunder rumbled through the rain-soaked night.

"No!" Ed shook his head violently, golden strands flying about wildly. "You have to hang on!"

Roy coughed, feeling the warmth of blood mix with the chill rain and run down his face. "I'm… I'm _trying_," he said, Ed's desperation contagious. "I can't help this hole in my chest!"

"That little thing?" Ed's laugh held more than a hint of hysteria. "Surely you've survived worse than that."

Roy's eyes closed as agony that had nothing to do with his wounds washed through him. _Oh, Ed…_

"Look, Hawkeye's here. You can't die, now; she'll shoot you if you try!"

Roy couldn't help the smile that quirked his lips. His faithful lieutenant hurried to his side, Havoc on her heels. He struggled to focus on the beautiful blonde above him, but her face remained fuzzy.

"Hang in there, sir. Havoc will do what he can, and there is an ambulance on the way," Riza Hawkeye said, clutching his shoulder with a grip that belied her controlled expression.

Roy raised a hand between them, but it fell short of its goal and dropped next to his face. Riza grabbed hold of it. "So beautiful," he murmured.

"You must be delirious, sir. Your body is going into shock from the loss of blood."

Distantly, Roy felt his feet being lifted and something being placed under them. Havoc pulled Edward's coat away from the wound and grimaced at the sight of torn and bleeding skin.

"What happened?" Havoc asked Ed.

Ed scowled. "Envy," was his terse response. "Came outta nowhere, that _bastard_."

Roy frowned at the venom in the boy's voice. That wasn't how he usually said "bastard". Usually…. Roy struggled to think. Usually, Edward sounded almost… fond? Teasing? But that couldn't be right. Maybe he was delirious, after all.

"Is there anything remaining in the wound?" Havoc asked as he gently turned the colonel to take a look at his back.

"No, it went clean through," Ed answered. His somber tone made Roy ache. No one that young should sound so serious, so _broken_.

Havoc rolled Roy back onto the black jacket that cushioned the hole in his back. "You did good, staunching the blood like this," he said. "Unfortunately, there is not much more we can do, other than to keep applying pressure until the ambulance arrives. He's going to need surgery." Riza's hand clenched around Roy's, and from his feet, Ed sucked in air. It was only then that Roy realized Ed was sitting in the street with Roy's feet in his lap.

"Will he…. Will he make it? Is he gonna be okay?" Ed's voice was desperate for reassurance, and Roy thought fuzzily that Ed shouldn't be so worried about _him_. His vision started to grow dim, and he wondered briefly if night had taken over the darkened twilight, but Havoc's reply was lost in the whispers that grew in his ears, and Riza's grip was loosening.

_No, that's my grip,_ he realized. As if from a great distance, he heard the sound of an emergency siren, and then Roy Mustang slipped from consciousness, his hand falling from Riza's hold.

Roy choked on a groan as he awoke. Someone helpfully pushed a small piece of ice into his mouth, and Roy let it melt on his tongue gratefully. He felt like he'd been run over by a small train. In other words, awful. Carefully, he opened his eyes, blinking to ease the feeling of sand stuck beneath his eyelids and squinting against the bright overhead light.

"Sorry," a quiet voice murmured, and the overhead light went out, to be replaced by a small bedside lamp.

"Hawkeye?" he asked. There was an affirmative murmur, and a soft hand slipped into his.

"We're glad to have you back with us, sir," she said quietly.

_We?_ Roy squinted a bit more, then widened his eyes, willing the world around him to come into focus.

"You look stupid, doing that with your face."

"_Fullmetal?_" Roy relaxed against his pillow. He hadn't even realized he'd tensed up, but his body let him know in no uncertain terms that it didn't appreciate his attempts at movement. He groaned pitifully.

"I'll get the doctor," Riza said before Edward could speak. "He needs to know you're awake, and I believe he said something about a painkiller." Her hand left Roy's, and the door closed carefully behind her.

"Isn't she wonderful?" Roy said, breathing shallowly. Ed only grunted, and Roy frowned.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" he asked.

"Came to see if you'd kicked the bucket, yet," Ed answered gruffly, glad the colonel couldn't see the pink that graced his cheeks.

The truth was that he'd remained all night at the hospital with the rest of Mustang's team and Al, chewing nervously on the fingertips of bloodstained gloves as he paced across the floor of the waiting room until his brother had carefully stopped him and taken the ruined gloves. After that, Ed gnawed on his automail. When the doctor arrived from surgery, he had waited away from the others, afraid to hear the outcome of the procedure. The looks of relief on everyone's faces had him hurrying over in time to hear the doctor say that only two visitors would be allowed to visit Mustang, as he didn't want the strain of too many people to overcome the heartless bastard.

Well, the doctor didn't call Mustang a heartless bastard, but that's clearly what the colonel was, making them all worry for hours on end.

There was no doubt Hawkeye would be one of the visitors to see Mustang, and when Ed had said he would be the other, the rest of the team took one look at his determined face and didn't bother protesting, heading home instead to get some rest. Al decided to stay, waiting patiently for his brother's return. Ed kept vigil in silence with Hawkeye for three hours until the anesthesia wore off enough for the bastard to wake up. Making sure the cup of ice chips stayed well stocked was probably the only thing that kept him sane. The nurses who'd refilled the cup every quarter hour said nothing, for which Ed was grateful.

But Mustang didn't need to know all that.

To his surprise, Mustang smiled. It was weak and wobbly, but it was there. "That's the runt I know."

"Runt? Runt!" Ed all but shrieked. "How dare you call me a runt, you over-inflated, pompous, arrogant, snobby _bastard_!"

"Ah, _there_ it is," Roy said, a self-satisfied smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

"There's what?!" Ed screeched, flailing his arms. The cup full of ice went flying, and Ed only just caught it before it spilled all over the floor. Quietly, he placed the cup back on the small table at the side of Roy's bed.

"Everyone was here all night," he said, the fire gone out of him. "They said it didn't look good. Too much blood loss, your heart stopped on the operating table." Ed's jaw clenched, the corners of his eyes tightening. "_Twice_," he choked out. "You died fucking _twice_."

Roy stared. What did you even say to that? "I'm sorry," he tried.

"Don't – don't be _sorry_," Ed said with a damp laugh, and Roy was surprised to see the tears that escaped Ed's eyes. "You're _alive_. Don't be sorry," he repeated.

"I…" Roy had never felt so lost. He liked to think his volatile relationship with his youngest officer wasn't bad, but he didn't fool himself into thinking it was particularly good, either. This certainly wasn't the reaction he expected from Edward in this situation. "I don't know what to say," he said at last.

"Then don't say anything. Bastard."

Roy couldn't help the chuckle that slipped out, but he caught his breath at the wave of pain that washed over him.

Ed missed his wince as he wiped his eyes with the edge of his shirt. "What's so damn funny?" he demanded.

"Oh, nothing," Roy said breathlessly. He took a few slow, shallow breaths. "It's just that…" – _Breathe, Roy!_ – "I can't help but like the way you say 'bastard' much better when that's what you call me."

Ed looked at him as though he was crazy, and Roy struggled to keep the laughter at bay. "Maybe you injured your head more than we thought when you fell," he said doubtfully.

Roy smirked. "Runt," he said.

Ed's ears burned red. "Who're you—" he started, but Roy wasn't done.

"Tiny," he continued. "Smaller than a speck of subatomic dust. So little, you'd need a stepstool to reach the first rung of the ladder you'd have to climb to tie your boots – not that you ever do."

Ed's face turned hot, but his commanding officer wasn't done yet.

"When you get out of bed, does Alphonse have to search through the carpet fibers to find you? I'm surprised no one's tried to kill you with disinfectant yet. You are about the right size for a strain of bacteria. One of these days, a kitten of Al's will mistake you for a miniature mouse and eat you. How does someone so diminutive manage to eat so much, anyway? You're so petite, it's a wonder people don't mistake you for a girl."

By this time, Ed was nearly purple with rage. "You-you-you _BASTARD!_" he shouted, flinging the cup of ice at Roy. He stormed out of the room, stomping past a startled doctor and Lieutenant Hawkeye.

Riza and the doctor stepped into the room to see Roy calmly picking up a piece of ice from his chest and popping it into his mouth. "What was that about, sir?" she asked, setting down a small cup on the little table.

"Oh, nothing much. Just giving Fullmetal my thanks," Roy said innocently.

Oblivious, the doctor said, "As well you should. It is no doubt because of that young man's efforts that you are alive. If he hadn't been so quick-thinking, you would not be here, now."

Roy considered this somberly for a moment, his hand rubbing absently at the bandage across his chest, as the doctor went over some notes on his clipboard.

"I believe that Doctor Gareth has some medicine for you," Riza said at last, interrupting his thoughts.

"Ah! Yes." The doctor reached into a pocket of his white overcoat, pulling out a syringe.

Mustang watched uneasily as Doctor Gareth moved the needle closer, and pulled his arm away from it in a calculatedly casual move. "That's not really necessary, is it?" he asked. "I'm sure you could just give me a few pills and call it good."

"Nonsense," said the doctor, grabbing Roy's wrist in a firm grip and straightening out his arm. "This will work much faster, and" – he plunged the needle into a vein, and Roy winced – "your stomach is likely to reject anything at this point. Side effect of the anesthesia." He reached into his pocket again and produced a small gauze bandage and wrapped it tightly to Roy's arm.

Sure enough, Roy felt a sense of weightlessness overtake him, and he relaxed in the doctor's grip. Doctor Gareth released his wrist with a reassuring pat. "There, better already," he said, and Roy nodded and smiled. He was sure it looked a bit goofy, but no one said anything.

"Get some rest," Doctor Gareth suggested, pocketing the used syringe. "I'll be back to check on you in a bit."

"Wanna… go home," Roy said carefully, staring at the light fixture on the ceiling in fascination.

"I'm sorry, but you will need to remain in hospital for at least a week," the doctor replied. Roy tried to listen, but the ceiling was so entrancing…. "Frankly, you were really lucky. Whatever hit you didn't hit any of your ribs, and took a small piece out of your right lung. It also nicked your spine. Any further left, and the lower half of your body would have been paralyzed."

Doctor Gareth went on for a bit longer about all the awful stuff that had happened to Roy, but he didn't bother listening. He knew Riza would remind him of it all later, and probably make him feel two inches tall while she did. Speaking of Riza…

Roy's eyes drifted to the side. "Pretty," he said. His mouth felt like mush, Roy decided. He tried the word aloud and decided he liked it. The doctor said something, but Roy just waved him off, going back to mush and other mushy-sounding words.

Doctor Gareth stepped through the door and closed it quietly behind him, smiling. He was stopped as the boy from earlier stepped into his path.

"Well?" Ed asked gruffly. "How is he?"

"He's looking good, much better than I'd anticipated. As long as he keeps his spirits up, he should make a quick recovery." The sound of loud, off-key singing floated through the door at the doctor's back. "I don't think that will be much of a problem, however."

Ed snorted and moved out of the doctor's path. "He's a crazy, old bastard," he said, leaning against the wall and folding his arms.

"You're welcome to go back in," Doctor Gareth said, gesturing at the door.

Roy's voice could be heard from inside the room, saying, "Come on, Hawkeye! _Sing!_ Don't be such a stick in the mud!"

The thought of being asked to sing had Ed grimacing. "I think I'll pass."

The doctor laughed. "Right. Well, have a good morning!" And with a cheery wave, he walked off.

Ed looked to the window at the end of the corridor, noticing for the first time that the sun was indeed lighting the morning sky, pushing away the last of the rainclouds from the night before. The storm was over, finally.

"I think I just might," he murmured to himself, grinning as the chorus from a rather vulgar drinking song reached him. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, relief pulling the tension from his young body. "Yeah, I think I will."

_**End**_

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**AN: **Alright, all you lurkers! Review!


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